


Mountain Sound

by Somedrunkpirate



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 09:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10682442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somedrunkpirate/pseuds/Somedrunkpirate
Summary: They take a long break, together. It's quite the adventure.(Eames discovers Arthur's greatest fear and they get a cat. It's all good)





	Mountain Sound

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of Mice and Mutant Demon Creatures](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192868) by [earlgreytea68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68). 



> “We have a dream.  
> Someday, we’ll have a little house and a couple of acres.  
> A place to call home.”
> 
> –Of Mice And Men
> 
> This work is quite frankly only made possible by the amazingness that is earlgreytea.
> 
> Edit after the reveal: 
> 
> Bless Pigfarts23, Brightside and Iamanonniemouse for getting me through this and being such amazing beta's and cheerleaders. You made me feel confident in my ability to do this. Thank you so much <3

Eames plans to wait up for Arthur to come home, but he falls asleep in the process, the sofa a temptation too great to resist. He wakes up when Arthur drops his luggage to the living room floor.

“Darling, you’re home,” Eames says, grinning sleepily.

Arthur pushes a hand through his hair, but doesn’t come closer. He stays there, standing alone in the middle of the living room.

“Yeah, I am,” he says, watching Eames wearily. “It’s been a while.”

Eames sighs and pushes himself off the sofa.

“Come here, love,” Eames says as he walks up to Arthur.

At once, Arthur’s composure crumbles and he steps into Eames’ arms, taking in a deep, ragged breath. Eames holds him close and kisses his head.

“I’ve missed you,” Eames mumbles softly.

Arthur tenses up again, so Eames pulls him towards the sofa.

After cuddling up in each other’s arms for a bit, Arthur comes slowly back to himself. He sits up. Eames stays close but tries to gives him some space.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Arthur says, turning away from Eames, who is trying hard not to think of worst-case scenarios just yet.

“What can’t you do, love?”

Eames puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder in comfort and is slightly relieved when Arthur doesn’t shake it off. Arthur doesn’t answer and Eames doesn’t want to push, but this seems to be something they need to actually talk about.

“You know what you say about specificity, pet? I might need some now,” Eames says.

Arthur snorts, and he turns back to Eames.

“It’s been four months since I last saw you, I just–“ Arthur takes a deep breath. “It’s been hard for me, living like that. I can’t do that.”

Eames heart aches, he wraps his arms around Arthur, personal space be damned. “It’s hard for me too, love. I’m with you.”

Arthur relaxes a bit at that.

“You know darling, we could just take a long break… take a year off from jobs? Spend some time together,” Eames says, later, as they prepare for bed.

Arthur freezes with a toothbrush halfway to his mouth. He’s smiling.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Arthur sighs, but it’s light-hearted.

Eames grins at him. “Because you’re you, darling.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and ignores him.

“Hmm, a break with you. Yeah, I’d like that.”

\--

They start planning next weekend, or Arthur starts planning it. Eames is throwing darts at a map he hung up on the wall, calling out the places he hits.

“The Virgin Islands?”

“Too touristy.”

“Miyagi-ken, Japan?”

“Isn’t that a mountain with permanent snow? Too cold.”

“Not sure,” Eames says before throwing again. _Thack._ “Macedonië.”

“No.”

“The middle of the Red Sea.”

Arthur sighs. “No, Eames.”

“Darling! Think about it: we could hire a boat, and it would float on top of the water, because of all of the salt! And after we could go to Egypt, those pyramids seem interesting and I’ve always wanted to ride a camel.”

“One, you mean the Dead Sea. Two, camels are not fun transportation, your ass will feel like it’s been beaten for days,” Arthur says, “and three, isn’t floating something boats always do?”

“Hmm, we don’t need camels for that. Okay, I’m out of darts. What do you want, petal?”

Arthur pushes his laptop away from him. He hasn’t even opened up his browser yet, he just doesn’t know where to begin. They could go everywhere. He says so.

“Darling, we can always go everywhere, but we’re taking a break now, specifically to rest and spend time together. What or where would make you happiest? Peaceful? Where would you be at ease?”

Eames is looking at him with soft, fond eyes, and Arthur reaches out to caress his jaw gently.

“I don’t know, I only know that I don’t want it to feel like traveling for work.”  

Eames nods at him, motioning to continue. Arthur lets his head drop and sighs.

“It’s just… I don’t actually want to be on vacation you know? I want to spend time with you, eat breakfast together, watch movies, I want to read books and you can paint if you want. I want to just, live together for a while…”

Eames hums. “So, you want a home?”

Arthur turns to Eames and smiles. “Yeah, I suppose so, but this apartment doesn’t feel very homely to me.”

Eames leans in and kisses Arthur, when he pulls back he is beaming and Arthur’s breath catches. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe he causes that smile.

“So that means we will find ourselves a house, love,” Eames says before kissing him again.

Arthur follows him instinctively and eventually ends up in Eames’ lap. He wraps his arms around Eames’ neck and kisses him deeply, softly. Arthur knows Eames will read this as the thank you that it is. He also knows Eames thinks it’s unnecessary, but who says no to a make-out session?

“Oh!” Eames suddenly pulls away, after kissing for a while.

Arthur blinks at him bleary, and waits patiently on whatever tangent has interrupted them now.

“Does that mean we can get a cat?” Eames asks.

“Eames, update me on your thoughts please. I’m still at the kissing part,” Arthur says, “does _what_ mean we can get a cat?”

“The house!” Eames says.

“Eames, I’m allergic remember?” he says and chuckles, “we’ll get a house without mice don’t worry.”

Eames pushes Arthur off his lap, despite Arthur’s protests, and rushes to the living room closet, where he pulls out something from between the books.

Arthur rolls his eyes and goes back to his own chair.

“It’s not about those creatures, although it’s a nice benefit,” Eames says as he walks back, “I’ve always wanted a cat, I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Eames is holding a thick file, which he gives to Arthur.

“Eames, what is this?” Arthur asks while opening it.

“I want a cat, you like files, so I figured…” Eames lets the sentence trail off.

Arthur, meanwhile, is in shock.

The file is titled _“The Most Amazing Cat-Plan In History Of Mankind Made By The Amazing Eames_ ” but that’s where the usual Eames-isms end.

The information is highly organised, labeled and colorcoded. There are studies that write about hypoallergenic cat species, plans and schedules where Eames has meticulously organized how they would take care of their cat, with jobs and without jobs. An impressive number of animal care businesses are reviewed and rated. Eames even set up a potential pet insurance.

“There are multiple options, as you can see, but I would vote for a sphinx, because they look awesome and are very mellow and easygoing, so it wouldn’t mind having to travel sometimes if need be. I have another file with name options but as that wasn’t practical information I left it out in there… what do you think?”

Arthur looks up from the file, Eames is watching him eagerly.

“Eames-” Arthur looks back at the file and tries again. “Why don’t you organize like this on the job?”

Arthur can’t believe this. He flips through the file quickly and he can’t find a single fault with it, not even one grammatical error.

Normally, Eames manages to misspell even a single-worded message, left on a post-it note under Arthur’s desk, which, in Eames’ mind counts as a debriefing.

Working with Eames is one of Arthur’s favorite things, but it comes with a double organizing task. Arthur thinks it’s worth it. But, all this time, Eames could actually do _this_?

“This is amazing,” Arthur murmurs.

“Does that mean we can get a cat?” Eames asks excitedly, “or, sorry, take your time reading it and think about it, yeah?” he adds.

Arthur looks back at Eames. He should think about this more, he knows, but he can’t actually say no to that smile, and as far he can see, Eames has done his research.

“Yes, Eames. We can get a cat,” Arthur says, chuckling when Eames literally jumps up and fistpumps in the air.

After, he rushes to Arthur, kissing him deeply.

“Thank you, darling. It’s going to be great.”

\--

The cat is something to get used to.

Arthur is and always has been an independent person. Learning how to share his life with Eames was one of the most interesting and simultaneously terrifying things he’s ever done.

There is no end to the wonder and contentment their life together brings him, but the fear that he could lose it made him feel like he was climbing down a very high and steep cliff. A beautiful valley lay below him, a place he wanted to reach as soon as possible. But he had to climb one step at the time, one slip and everything could be lost.

It took Arthur a while to realize that he wasn’t climbing alone.

Now, a cat is added into the mix.

And a house.

Arthur finds the house.

He throws himself into the real estate business, researching what they will need in a home for the coming year. It isn’t like looking for a base for a job, as the requirements aren’t for criminal activities but for actually _living_.

Arthur makes a list. Eames adds _a big shower for reasons_ to this list and Arthur ignores that, for more reasonable reasons.

There is a certain point in research where everything falls into place. The lists are met and checked, the compromises are set and the plan for the job is clear, scheduled and ready.

Arthur experiences the same with this house.

By accident, he finds an advert around 3 in the morning, for a long-term house hire in the rural midwest.

He had spent 7 hours researching and it is too perfect to be real, so Arthur decides to stop right this second and go to bed.

The next day, it’s still there.

The house comes with several acres of land, most of which are grasslands, bordering on a small forest that evolves into a lone mountain range. It is a 15 minute drive from the nearest village and most importantly, the house itself fits the list perfectly.

With its three bedroom and two bathroom layout it is fairly roomy for two people, but Arthur knows the both of them like to have a space of their own. They can temporarily rearrange two bedrooms into a library for Arthur and a studio for Eames.

Which is only possible because of the many liberties the house came with, both in a good and in a bad sense. They will need to buy or bring most of the furniture themselves. The house needs to be repainted; the living room’s walls are lime green, a courtesy of the previous owner. But other than that, it’s good quality for its price range.

It’s a part of a group of houses that are hired for years at the time by people of many walks of life. The town villagers seem to be proud of their semi-permanent residents. On their website there are lists of previous residents: from stranded contemporary writers, to recently divorced women of CEO’s.

Arthur makes a mental note to use one of their fake identity sets. They don’t need a record of their time living there on the internet.

Eames is reading with him over his shoulder, and nods when Arthur mentions that this house could be it.

“So, we’re going to live in a mid-life crisis house?” he asks, while chewing on a carrot.

Arthur doesn’t know where the carrot came from, because he never buys them and Eames would never either.

“What?” Arthur says, too distracted by the carrot enigma to register the question.

“Are we having a midlife crisis, darling?”

Arthur frowns. “No?”

“Yes, we are. We’re going to live in a mid-life crisis house, and we’re getting a cat. Which is mostly the same as buying a motorcycle,” Eames says, nodding.

Arthur runs the events of the last couple of months through his head and comes to a terrifying conclusion.

“Oh god. I’m having a mid-life crisis.” Arthur closes his laptop and leans back in his chair, looking up to the ceiling.

“Love, you’ve been having a mid-life crisis for months, don’t panic about it now,” Eames says fondly, kissing Arthur’s neck. Eames steals the laptop from the table. “Come on pet, let’s get that house hired. Which passports are we using?”

“The Petals.”

\--

Eames finds the cat. Arthur still isn’t quite sure where he got it from.  

Arthur meets the cat on one particular morning, by waking and finding it on Eames’ pillow, staring at him.

“Arthur,” Eames says, “This is Sam-I-Am, our cat.”

Arthur decides he doesn’t want to deal with this, at this hour, and promptly falls asleep again.

At breakfast, the cat jumps up and on the table.

“Do we allow this behavior?” Arthur asks, not quite sure what the policy is with cats.

“I do. You don’t,” Eames replies.

“Ah.” Arthur shoos the cat off the table. It glares at him. “Now it hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t, you’re just the strict parent, I’m the fun one,” Eames says, before picking the cat up. It settles on his lap, as though they’ve been doing that for years.

“Eames, where did you get this cat?” Arthur asks.

Eames nods to a small folder on the table. Arthur opens it, and a set of official documents are revealed. Arthur grabs his reading glasses –this early in the morning he needs them– and inspects the documents.

“Nice forgeries, but why are you using your criminal abilities to adopt a _cat_?” Arthur puts the documents back and closes the folders. There is nothing wrong with them, which tells Arthur that they’re fake. If Eames had to go through the process of filling out real documents, he would at least have misspelled one word, purposefully, for his own petty pleasure.

“Getting a cat is a surprisingly tedious bureaucratic process darling,” Eames says absently as he pets the cat. It’s purring now.

“I could’ve done it for you?” Arthur asks, uncertain.

Eames looks up, a smile on his face. “You’ve done enough darling. I could handle it, just in my own, slightly illegal way.”

Arthur smiles back. “I suppose.”

“I ignore patronizing statements before your first coffee Arthur, otherwise my ego will get crushed too much every day,” Eames quips. Arthur rolls his eyes.

“What was his name again?” he asks.

“Sam-I-Am,” Eames says, “like Doctor Seuss.”

“Can I say Sam for practicality’s sake?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“Thank you.”

\--

The shop bell rings when Eames walks into the artshop. He’s on a supply run because not three weeks after they moved in the house, he is already through most of his paints. Without jobs there is suddenly so much time to paint, and his meager paint collection couldn’t withstand the series of paintings he is working on.

Eames has had the most brilliant idea by combining his forgery skills and his new and lovely muse, Sam-I-am. The work he is now painting is a cat version of the Mona Lisa, and Sam-I-am has been an amazing subject to work with.

Eames suspects Arthur is intensely annoyed by the fact that he has been replaced by a cat as art subject, which is highly amusing. So Eames doesn’t tell him about his other project, a more Arthurian project, just yet. It’s fun to keep him on his toes, and surprise him when he expects it the least.

Arthur had decided not to go with him on this trip. Or rather, he had hummed when Eames asked, without looking away from his book. Eames knew then that Arthur would not in any circumstances come with him. A mardi gras parade could’ve walked right past and Arthur would have kept on reading. Eames knows this from experience.

The small shop is lined with canvases next to the entrance and Eames walks to them gleefully. He will need a new one soon, but he only allows himself to choose one. Not buy it.

First finish the sketches and the Mona Lisa, he tells himself. After, he can buy a new one, the biggest one the store has.

The past weeks had been a slow moving in process. Eames had expected Arthur to want to get everything done within the first week, but being here had mellowed him out a bit.

In the calm quiet of nature, and away from the fast-paced professional life the two of them held in busy cities, Arthur had left his tense shoulders in their old apartment and easily fallen into a more relaxed version of himself. It had been so sudden that Eames thinks Arthur hasn’t consciously noticed the change yet. He seems happier, and Eames is glad his suggestion of a break already seems to be working.

The moment he had left Arthur to his own devices, with Sam-I-am a permanent feature in his lap (only allowed this privilege because, _hairless cats don’t ruin my suits, Eames)_ Eames was already looking forward to coming back home. He too feels like this is what he needed, what _they_ needed.

Eames shakes himself out of his thoughts and looks around for the supplies he came here for. He needs a new set of darker oil paints, and he hopes they have wallpaint here too.

Arthur was very clear on the fact that the lime green walls would have go, despite Eames’ protests that they actually fit very well with the wooden floorboards and the wide windows in the living room.

Eames smiles as he thinks of the conversation that came out of this discussion.

“How would _you_ know about colours, Eames,” Arthur had said with a raised eyebrow before motioning to Eames’ outfit, a lovely orange dotted shirt and light blue jeans.

Eames dramatically clutched his hands to his chest. “Let me inform you darling, I know loads about colours. I was a very successful interior designer once, in a long con.”

Arthur laughed unbelievingly. “Yeah? What did you design?”

“A sex club,” Eames said.

The smile that grew on Arthur’s face was worth it’s weight in gold and Eames moved in to kiss him.

“Of course you did,” Arthur said when he pulled back. “In any case, I don’t have a sexclub, so can the green please go?”

“What do I get out of agreeing with this deal?” Eames asked suggestively.

“I can think of something,” Arthur replied, biting on his lower lip.

So, some time later, Eames buys olive green coloured wall-paint, imagining Arthur’s grudging acceptance when he comes back with it.

\--

It takes them two months of reading, painting, sex, cooking and eating dinner together, until Eames reaches his _must have some adventure_ point and drags Arthur off to the fair that, apparently, is in town.

They only had visited the town for supply runs or short walks, so Eames was excited _to get to know the town proper_. Or so he told Arthur.

Arthur, meanwhile, was still reeling from the fact that when Eames uttered the word “adventure” he had had a normal thing in mind, not an art-heist, or a casino run, to name a few.

Arthur is so busy being proud of them that he doesn't quite realize what a fair would entail, for him.

\--

The fair looks like a flea market a circus threw up over. It’s bad enough that Arthur almost expects an elephant in a tutu to walk past, shopping for antique vases.

Eames, of course, is delighted.

“I didn’t know there was a theme! I should’ve worn my pirate costume!” he says excitedly, taking their surrounding in with a broad grin.

“You have a pirate costume?” Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow.

Eames looks at him like that is the stupidest question ever uttered in his presence. Which isn’t true, because more stupid questions are asked by Eames daily.

“Of course you have a pirate costume, I should have known better,”  Arthur says, smiling at Eames’s expression.

Eames nods at him seriously, but beams a second later, looking at something to the side of Arthur. Before Arthur can discern what deserves Eames’ attention this time, Eames has run off.

Arthur sighs and follows him to his new target. It turns out to be a fruits and vegetable stand, and in the three seconds Eames had been out of Arthur’s sight, he has bought bananas.

When Eames spots Arthur, he greets him with an excited smile. “Look, love, we have an abundance of bananas!”

“You bought two bananas, Eames. I wouldn’t call that an abundance,” Arthur says rolling his eyes. The old woman behind the stands looks between them curiously.

“You shouldn’t judge the abundanceness on quantity, darling. Judge on size, or girth,” Eames says leering.

Arthur pulls Eames away from the stand, as not to traumatize the old lady further, who is now blushing slightly and looking away purposefully. Eames wiggles the bananas close to Arthur’s face. They _are_ rather large.

“There are too many things wrong with that statement to comment. I plead the fifth,” Arthur says.

“Doesn’t work, I’m British,” Eames says while peeling one of the bananas.

“Then I refer to the Judges Rules of 1912. Or, the Police and Criminal Evidence Act of 1984, if you need a more recent one,” Arthur says without missing a beat.

Eames laughs brightly. “You prepared for this.”

“I felt the need would arise at some point,” Arthur says with a smile. They grin at each other.

“Do you want the other banana?” Eames asks finally, holding out said banana to Arthur.

Arthur weights the traumas of previous statements against his hunger. He takes the banana and ignores Eames’s smug expression.

“It’s got good girth,” Arthur says before biting off a piece.

Eames almost chokes on his banana, and starts to laugh way too hard to be comfortable in a public space.

When Eames is finished embarrassing him, Arthur tries to get them back on task. If they have one.

“Is there a plan to this? Are we here for something specifically, or are we just going to go around and buy more phallic-shaped fruits?” he asks.

“There is a show I wanted to go to.” Eames points to a fairly large tent with a long queue. “Arthur, they _ride_ motorcycles on _walls_.”

Arthur chuckles. “Well, we’ll have to see that. Although, promise me you’ll only try it out yourself in dreams, please.”

“I promise, darling,” Eames says. “Can you get us some popcorn? I’ll stand in the queue for tickets.”

“Yeah, sure.” Arthur kisses Eames quickly. “See you in a minute. Do you want salt or caramel?”

“Why not both?” Eames asks.

“Why not, indeed,” Arthur replies smiling. They aren’t bad at this, this whole taking a break thing. Arthur’s surprisingly happy and relaxed, which compels him to kiss Eames just once more before he walks off.

\--

Eames is waiting in the queue for two minutes tops when his phone rings.

It’s Arthur. Eames picks up with a smile.

“Do you miss me already, darling?” he asks.

“Eames, I need you to come get me. I’m behind the motor show tent, approximately 1.2 minutes from your position,” Arthur says tensely.

“Fuck,” Eames says, “how many?”

His hand twitches for his gun, but he represses the impulse. They don’t need to cause a panic. He starts to walk toward Arthur, pushing through the mass of people around him.

“There is no emergency, no shooters,” Arthur says quickly.

“What is it then, darling?” Eames asks, confused. Arthur sounds affected, which means at least a high level emergency, because Arthur never lets himself sound anything but calm.

Arthur doesn’t answer.

“Darling?” Eames says, and speeds up again.

“Eames, just come get me. Please,” Arthur says.

“Yeah, love, of course, 20 seconds.”

**\--**

“Darling, you beat three thugs with a stapler while being tied up in a chair. I think you could handle a clown.”

“No, I didn’t, _someone_ spread that story everywhere,” Arthur snaps, still tense.

“It’s a good story, if I do say so myself,” Eames says grinning.

“I took them out without a stapler. Why add a stapler, Eames?”

“I think it added some flair, you need more flair in your life, pet.”

“I’ve got you for that,” Arthur says dryly, but he is smiling a little.

Eames is glad. “But the point still stands,” he says, “a clown is just an old guy in a suit, like Santa! What can Santa do to you?”  

“Comparing those abominations to Santa is an insult to Santas everywhere, Eames.”

“Point,” Eames allows. “I still can’t get over the fact that my bad-ass Arthur is scared of clowns though.”

“Remember the mouse?” Arthur asks.

“That wasn’t a mouse, that was a Mutant Demon Creature, you said that yourself,” Eames says. “Besides, mouses are evil beings that can kill you in your sleep, clowns are harmless people with a weird obsession for children.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. “You made them even more fucked up by saying that.”

“Well darling, I will protect you from the fake-Santas, always. I’ll pop their balloons for you.”

“Thank god for that, I feel safe now,” Arthur deadpans, but Eames knows Arthur does feel a bit better.

He throws an arm around Arthur, who leans in automatically.

“The clown-crisis made us miss the show, but we still could get some sweet sticky apple-balls?”

“They’re called caramel apples, don’t make everything into a porno prop.”

“But it rolls so nicely across the tongue, pet,” Eames leers.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Remind me again why I put up with you?”

“It’s the flair.”

“Probably.”

\--

The fair takes a surprisingly long time to die out. The families leave while the sun slowly sets and the kids stop screaming and running and decide to fall asleep on the spot. Without the social responsibility kids bring, the drunk and chaotic move in. So all in all, the fair doesn’t seem to end anytime soon and Arthur is trying not to be impatient, but he actually just wants to go home.

It takes Eames a while to notice, he’s so into the cheery going-on’s of the fair, and has charmed more than half of the residents already. But after a while he makes his way back to Arthur, takes one look at his face and says: “You want to go?”

“Yes, please,” Arthur says, not quite keeping his relief out of his voice.

Eames leans in and kisses Arthur’s cheek quickly, and pulls back with a soft smile. “Darling, you should’ve said earlier,” he scolds gently.

Arthur shakes his head. “You were having fun. It’s your break too, you know.”

Eames hums, but doesn’t seem satisfied.

“I’ll tell you next time, okay?” Arthur says, compromising.

Eames kisses his ear. “Thank you, darling.”

They stand up and walk away from the crowd together. Eames assures him that there is another exit away from the busy main road and Arthur is just glad to be away from all the noise so he happily lets Eames lead them away.

This turns out to be a mistake.

Eames leads them to the back of the fair, a field filled with small tents and caravans, probably the temporary living area of the traveling staff. It’s abandoned and deserted, dark and silent, and everything is wrong about it.

“This is a perfect place to be murdered by a serial killer,” Arthur points out. “No one would hear us, and no one would miss us here.”

“I disagree. I’ve made quite an impression tonight, darling,” Eames says. “The whole town would organize a search for me.”

“Only for you?” Arthur asks.

“No, for you too, I suppose,” Eames replies, “everyone would agree that the loss of someone with your arse is just an unbearable tragedy for humanity.”

Arthur laughs. “I’m glad people appreciate me for my strongest assets.”

“You laugh, but I saw them all looking, pet. I would be jealous, but it’s actually worse when people don’t look at the blessing that is _you_. It just tells me that people have lost their ability to spot good things in life,” Eames says seriously.

“You’re ridiculous,” Arthur says. He appreciates the banter, but their uncomfortable surroundings start to bother him more and more. They seem to be walking in the direction of the forest, Arthur can see trees start at the edges of the field.

They both jump at a sound behind them. They turn towards the sound, which seems to be coming from the small road they just left. The sound turns out to be a bell from a small bike, on which there is a man, wearing a wig and big shoes. Arthur and Eames watch in shocked bemusement as the clown speeds off in the opposite direction, towards the fair.

Arthur's hand is suddenly a vice around Eames'.

"Eames," Arthur says quietly, "let's get out of here."

"I'm inclined to agree, darling," Eames and they resume walking in tandem, Arthur tugging Eames in a faster pace. They make their way to what looks like the last tent on the property.

They hear soft laughter and murmurs, so they walk the corner carefully. Eames can't see what awaits them at the end of the road because before he can get a good look, Arthur pulls him back and against the tent wall.

"Four clowns," Arthur bites out. He takes another quick look. "They are _huddling._ "

Eames is covered by Arthur's body protectively, and has to swallow his laughter.

“Why are there so many clowns at this fair? One or two would make some sense, but there are at least six that we’ve seen and we don’t know how many there are we haven’t seen. Who needs that many clowns? Why not–” Arthur rambles on.

Eames interrupts him by laying his hands on Arthur's tense shoulders and squeezing gently.

"Darling, I'll ask those clowns if they could move to another place for a smoke, okay?"

Arthur nods and lets Eames go.

"I'll just... stay here?"

"Yes, exactly. I'll be back in a mo."

\--

Right when Arthur has gathered the courage to go after Eames, Eames rounds the corner, giving both of them a heart attack.

Arthur recovers first. Eames seems to be covered in something and winces when Arthur pats him down worriedly.

"It's red dye darling, not blood," Eames says, and grimaces. "You were fucking right, clowns are worse than mouses."

“ _Mice_ – and are they now?” Arthur asks, amused.

"Yes! I asked them politely if they could move along, and the first thing one of them did was throw a water balloon at my face. I decked that one, and then they all attacked!"

Eames looks honestly enraged, and Arthur involuntary lets out a snort.

"You laugh!" Eames turns to him. "One of them had pepper spray! Not that he aimed well, but the fact that he had it!"

Arthur's resolve crumbles and he laughs out loud.

"The small one even tried to kick me in the nuts, but I scared that one away by throwing another one on top of him."

“Why are you covered in red paint?” Arthur asks.

“I… don’t know. It was chaos. I don’t bloody know,” Eames says.

"Eames, you made an assassin pee in his pants not three months ago, why can’t you handle a few old men in costumes?" Arthur says smugly before adding, “now you know why I avoid clowns.”

"They weren’t clowns, they were little devils in disguise," Eames grumbles.

"Where are they now?"

Eames looks askance.

"Eames what did you do to them?" Arthur asks. "Do we need to relocate?"

"No darling, I just kind of waved my gun at them. No harm done. They fucked off after that," Eames says, looking a bit ashamed.

Arthur groans. "Could they recognize you? I don't want to deal with the authorities so soon."

"No, it was too dark, we’re safe," Eames says.

Arthur sighs. He can’t believe this actually happened. He uses his handkerchief to clean some red dye off Eames’ face.

Eames starts to move forward but Arthur stops him gently.

"No hugs, you'll ruin my suit," he says.

Eames pouts. "But I defended you in battle darling, isn’t that worth more than clothes?"

"You gave me this suit for an anniversary Eames, I’d like to keep it intact," Arthur says before kissing Eames carefully. "But thank you, I feel very protected, can we go home now?"

"Yes darling," Eames answers. He takes a step back to offer his hand. "Let's go home."

  


**Author's Note:**

> The title is gently stolen from the song Mountain Sound by Of Monsters And Men.
> 
> After I was done freaking out about my assignment, I realized that this story could actually be a nice way to say thank you. 
> 
> So, Egt, your stories have meant the world to me and I hope this ficlet has conveyed that gratitude a little bit. 
> 
> Thank you so much!


End file.
